No Second Guesses
by RandomReader621
Summary: Spiderman Homecoming WIP set directly after the first movie. Patrolling as an Avenger gave Spiderman more of a rush than patrolling as a Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman did; which is probably why Peter's selective hearing kicked in every time Tony Stark gave one of his you're - just - a - kid - and - this - is - too - dangerous - for - you lectures.
1. Chapter 1

"-uck?!" Peter Parker's eyes grew about five sizes when he heard his aunt May's shrill, stunned exclamation. Quickly spinning on his heel, their eyes met, countenances matching almost exactly. Except, his was made up of a more 'I screwed up' face. May's glasses had slid almost completely off of her nose, barely hanging on the tip of it as she stared her nephew down, arms crossed and waiting.

"I can explain," his words rushed out as her face grew even redder in anger. He swore her nostrils flared.

"Yes," he had to give her props. That 'yes' sounded very calm and collected but, unfortunately for the young teen, the rest of what she said didn't. "Please explain why you are walking around in - in -" she waved her arm vaguely in his direction, " _like that._ "

"It's - It's just a costume."

"Costume?! It's not even close to halloween!" she shouted, voice strained, "Peter, tell me you're not - tell me you-" With each word, she took steps closer to him, physically having to hold herself back from shaking him...or slapping the back of his head. Her fingers twitched. Yeah, that second option is probably more likely.

"God, May, h-haven't you ever heard of cosplayers?" similar to his aunt's, Peter's voice had taken on a higher pitch: one his sort of friend, MJ, would call his defensive voice.

"Oh my," she started pacing, her hands taking residence on her temples, "Oh my God, is this one of those weird sexual fetishes? Be-Because that's okay, Peter, your body is going through a lot of changes right now and-"

"No, No, No, No!" Peter waved his arms in the air like a lunatic trying to halt her pubescent rant on body positivity and sexuality as his words passed through his progressively tightening throat.

"Then what is it? I'm trying here, Peter, to understand. What-"

"Stark gave it to me," his head snapped up in an attempt to exude confidence. May twitched an eyebrow.

"Stark? This isn't helping your case. I thought you said he let you go?"

"He, uh, sent this as an apology. Spiderman is my favorite so…"

"So he sent you this costume," she finished, her tone dry as the Arizona heat, eyebrows still pointed up towards her hairline.

"Yeah," he grabbed the brown bag off of his bed, folding it so 'Stark' was the only thing showing and displayed it to his aunt, "See." His laugh was nervous as he watched her eyes flick suspiciously over it. "If I was _actually_ Spiderman, I wouldn't need Tony Stark to make me a suit."

Aunt May pursed her lips, eyes flickering back and forth beneath her glasses. She handed the bag back, "Fine," she spoke slowly, deliberately, "I expect to see you wearing it for next Halloween. Looks expensive. Now, get dressed. I ordered out. Dinner's on its way."

He watched as she shakily walked out of the room. Peter knew she didn't believe him and he knew he would hear more on the subject later but May couldn't know. And, maybe he was worried she would prohibit him from being even a Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman and maybe he was worried she would get hurt. Call him selfish. He knew what happened when civilians got too close to powered people.

If anything happened to May because of him, he'd die.

 _###################################################_

" _Hey, Peter. Um, where are you? I've been standing outside of the library for an hour,"_ the voicemail that his _lab partner / kind of friend,_ Michelle left for him almost four hours ago rang out through Karen's speakers inside his suit. Silently cursing himself and the never ending crime (minor muggings, the occasional stolen wallet, and, he'll admit, lost people in need of directions) littering the streets of Queens, Peter prayed that Michelle's bored tone was actually bored and not her masking her annoyance. She was painfully good at that. As he gracefully swung between buildings on patrol, feeling each whoosh of the wind through the breathable fabric that made up his suit, the voicemails on his list played through, each gradually gaining a more angry undertone.

" _Dude, seriously. This project is going to take forever to put together if you don't get your ass over here in the next couple of minutes. Where even are you?"_

" _Look, I've got a ten PM curfew. You comin' or not?"_

" _Okay. So, maybe I don't really have a curfew but Charlie's gotta eat and our parents are out late tonight."_

" _You know what, Parker? Fuck you."_ That last one almost made him lose his grip on the webbing that supported him.

Patrolling as an Avenger gave Spiderman more of a rush than patrolling as a Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman did; which is probably why Peter's selective hearing kicked in everytime Tony Stark gave one of his _you're - just - a - kid - and - this - is - too - dangerous - for - you_ lectures. After all, Mr. Stark was just kidding. Of course Peter was an Avenger. He stole Captain America's shield and helped bring him and all of the Accord vigilantes to justice. Or, at least, that was what Mr. Stark told him they were doing while convincing him to leave his homework behind to go to Germany.

He even got the _ignoring - your - worried - peers - when - they - call - about - important - science - projects_ thing down pat. He felt bad and he knew he was in for an earful from the typically quiet bookworm when he got to school the next day. He continued to swing, keeping a more vigilant eye on the dark alleyways in the borough's trouble spots.

Ever since the unfortunate incident of having to send his sort of girlfriend's father to prison, the streets of Queens had been pretty quiet, save for a few small crimes here and there. But, at least, nobody was carrying any devastatingly damaging alien weapons around. It seemed as though Damage Control was doing a much better job this time around at keeping that sort of stuff out of the public's eyes and better yet, hands.

New York was known for being the city that never sleeps, but because of a few things that may have involved a certain group of heros called the Avengers, more and more people were opting to stay inside at night. Taking a turn past some of the more run-down and abandoned buildings, Peter did not expect to hear as many crashing noises as he did. One of which was followed by a loud booming voice, " _You idiot! You drop that one again and I swear I'll -"_ whatever the man was about to say got caught off with another piercing bang. And, it was a noise Peter knew all too well. A gunshot. He swung to circle back to where it came from and, without thinking twice, burst through the window of the basement.

"Hey guys. What's up?" he asked as casually as he could, while picking glass off his suit. Awkwardly propping himself up on the nearest wall, he glanced around the room and found, surprisingly, that no one was injured or bleeding out from a gunshot wound. Instead, he found a bullet hole in the wall and what had to be over a million dollars in cash stacked up against that same wall. The air was permeated with the smell of copper. Also, there were about nine men poised and ready for an attack; the biggest and bulkiest one, clearly their leader forced out a chuckle, making him sound like that one distant cousin that everyone mutually dislikes yet is still forced into attending reunions.

"Whoa. Where did you get all that money? Are you like the next Tony Stark? Man, that's so cool!" Peter enthused as he quickly started to web them up. Dodging fists came naturally as he got most of the group tied down, until he was, quite literally smacked out of the air by the man who had to have been ten times his size.

"The spiderboy! I've been so looking forward to you bustin' me one of these days," his voice was tinged with sarcasm as he brought down the wooden plank he had been using as a weapon. At the last second, Peter caught the other end before it could connect with his face and used the momentum to toss the weapon clear across the room, right after it left the side of the other man's face bruised and bloody.

Peter flipped himself back to his feet, "It's Spiderman." Eyes widening, he took in the wooden plank he had flung, realizing that it had knocked the ash tray containing still lit cigarettes into the piles of money stacked against the wall. "Uh oh." The sparks quickly transforming into flames as they licked every last bill within reach, the smoke billowing up to the ceiling.

"Fisk!" one of the voices called out.

The man, who Peter decided resembled a bulkier, angrier Fred Flintstone, let out a roar. He could see his internal struggle of whether to pounce on Spiderman or save what money had not been touched by the fire yet. Peter used his hesitation to jump back out the window and run, heart pounding.

 _###################################################_

You could imagine Peter's - sorry - Spiderman's surprise when he came

face to face with the enigma that was his lab partner and Academic Decathlon leader, Michelle. The suited figure swung, with ease, through his bedroom window to find a disinterested but comfortable curly-haired teenager sitting up in his bed with her nose buried in a book. Eyes widening as he took her unexpected presence in, he slowly started to back up. His heart was still racing from the fire he had caused and his suit smelled like barbecue but maybe she didn't notice him come in. His gloved hand reached back towards the window and abruptly halted at the sound of her bored voice.

"A little late there, Parker. This project isn't gonna do itself." She hadn't even glanced up. If Peter didn't know any better, he'd swear she had her own Spidey sense.

Raising his eyebrows under his mask, he took his hand off the window and angled his pointer finger to his chest as if to say, 'me?'

Eyes still on her book, she turned the page carefully, "You gonna sit down? Or are you just gonna stare at me all night?"

Clearing his throat, he purposefully made his voice deeper, "Ma'am, I am here on official Stark Internship business. Where is Peter?"

At that, the brown-eyed girl lazily shifted her gaze up to look at him, "Cut the bullshit, Peter. I know it's you."

"Ma'am, I-"

"Honestly, it wasn't that hard to figure out. I'm surprised more people didn't notice it before, then again not everyone has an IQ of 140."

Shaking his head, he dropped the fake accent, "But, how did you-"

"May let me in," she explained how she ended up in his room, subtly avoiding the Peter's actual question. "After she told me that Stark got you a new Halloween costume, Spiderman."

"So, you-you know that I-uh that I-," his personality shifted away from the confident hero and back to the confused nerdy kid who still played with legos.

Sitting up slightly more, Michelle slid her bookmark into place and began to count off her fingers, "You have an internship with a billionaire who has genetically enhanced superheroes as friends, you are always running off, you were in DC the same day the decathlon team was there while 'Peter' was nowhere to be found, and Ned said you 'know Spiderman.' Also, I saw your suit hanging out of your backpack a few times."

"You're also a huge flake." At his silence, she amended, "I'm not obsessed with you; just very observant. And, you and Ned aren't exactly quiet."

Peter slowly slipped his mask off, bowing his head down and nervously running his hand over his mess of curls. "MJ..." He sighed, "I-"

"You should have told me." She fisted her hands in his comforter, the only outward sign that she was angry, "I mean, not that I care or anything." She reached into her leather coat pocket, which was laying right next to her. "It's just - you left this at homecoming," unfolding the object in her hands, he realized that it was his tie. "You should look after it more carefully, Parker."

The double entendre in those words: the tie and his secret identity, made Peter's blood run cold. "You're not gonna tell anybody, are you?" he stuttered through.

She scoffed and if Peter didn't know any better, he'd think she was offended, "Please. I've known about this for months. If I was gonna tell, I would have a long time ago." She stood, grabbing her bookbag and her jacket, hastily making her way towards the door of his bedroom.

"Wait. But-But what about our project?"

"I finished it." The door slammed shut.

The teenage boy couldn't help but freeze then, remembering that May was still out, he pulled himself together and quickly slipped out the door after his friend. "MJ," he stopped her in the kitchen as she grabbed the front doorknob. Carefully pushing the door closed, arm stretched to its breaking point to reach over her tall figure, Peter realized how close he was to her. He stepped back, trying to shake the scent of lavender.

She chuckled, shaking off the seriousness of the situation, "Is this where you apologize to me and swear your undying, unrequited love for me?"

"Wh-? Love?" he stuttered.

"Jeez. You don't need to have an aneurism, Parker. I was just kidding, you idiot."

From the amount of time he had known her, he knew that calling him names was a defense mechanism. She did it when she was caught off guard or, dare he say, embarrassed. That is: embarrassed _for_ him. Michelle didn't get embarrassed. She didn't care enough to be. And, she was that way for as long as he could remember. Even during sex ed in middle school, when the teacher was explaining the beauty of the female uterus and its ability to menstruate and reproduce, Michelle felt the need to speak her mind. ' _I don't know. Our uteruses are probably a part of the patriarchy and they're there to punish us for not adhering to the societal standard that women need to constantly produce children once we reach a certain age.'_

"You smell like smoke," she stated snapping him out of the memory.

"Yeah. There was an incident," he scratched the back of his neck, praying to a higher power that that fire hadn't killed anyone even if they _were_ criminals and probably deserved it. Peter was no murderer.

MJ raised an eyebrow as if she had wanted to ask more about it but didn't consider the questions she had to be a worthy outlet of her time. Instead, she grabbed her bag off the floor and started marching back towards Peter's bedroom. "Where are you going?" he called after her.

"We need to start this project."

He furrowed his eyebrows as he hustled after her, "I thought you said you finished it."

Falling back down onto his twin mattress, she answered, "Yeah. And you told May you weren't Spiderman. You really thought I was going to do all the work _for_ you, Parker?" She glanced back up at him as she unpacked her textbook, "Just because you're a big shot superhero doesn't mean you get to skip out on your chemistry homework and leave us little guys out in the dust. Sit."

That was the thing about Michelle: she never asks, she states, commands, orders you to do things and Peter wasn't about to find out what she would do if he didn't listen to her. So, he sat...on the floor...in the spot he was just standing in. She smirked and quirked an eyebrow but once again kept her lips sealed.

She opted to go with, "You may want to change out of that suit. You're a little singed. I'm surprised you still have eyebrows." He slowly stood from his spot on the floor and made his way into his bathroom to change as Michelle began noisily flipping through the pages of their science textbook. She turned the cheap thin papers so aggressively that Peter wondered how none of them tore. He decided he would tread lightly around the lithe girl that was seated innocently criss-cross in the middle of his bedroom floor.

He quickly changed his clothes and re-entered his room, "Are you ready to hypothesize which metals corrode the fastest?"

"Forget that. Why don't we make our own version of Spiderman's webs?," she rubbed her hands together. In Peter's head, all she was missing was a handlebar mustache that she could twirl. She was evil. "What materials have the greatest tensile strength...say a couple thousand Newtons worth? How much tension is required to swing from buildings?"

"You're not funny, Michelle."

"No, but seriously. What's that stuff made out of? And can I borrow some?"

"It's a long chain polymer nylon and no, you can't borrow some of it."


	2. Chapter 2

When Michelle got home just after midnight, there was not a single soul in her house. She dropped her house key loudly onto the counter, hoping the sound would startle somebody into greeting her. MJ's parents were still at work, she knew that (there was a reason her house was among some of the nicer, bigger ones in Queens), but her thirteen year old brother, Charlie, should have been home hours before. She couldn't help the lump that had formed in the back of her throat, "Charlie!"

She shouted his name a few times, popping her head into some of his favorite hang-out spaces. When, after the tenth time of yelling her voice hoarse, there was still no answer, she bounded back down the steps. Barely slowing down to snatch her house key back up off the counter, she threw the front door open fully prepared to walk down every block in the state of New York to find him. Her brother was no goody-two-shoes and if she didn't find him before the police did, God only knew what kind of story would be in the news the next day. People of color didn't often come out of police confrontations unscathed.

She was halfway down the driveway when a white pickup truck pulled up in front of her. Lo and behold, a dark figure in a hoodie threw open the passenger side door and lept out. He straightened up next to his sister's 5'10" frame. Charlie was still a few inches shorter than her but he knew he'd be taller once puberty really took its toll on him. MJ watched as he clumsily reached back through the window to shake the strangers hand. She could smell the alcohol on him already.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she turned herself around and marched back into the house. She didn't wait for him nor did she wait to speak to whoever it was that drove him home this time. Seemingly calm, she placed her keys back in their original spot and sat on the couch, head in hand, elbow on knee as she waited for her brother to find his way inside. She hated these conversations.

His presence was evident when the front door opened and slammed shut for the third time in less than a half an hour. "Where were you?" she asked, tiredly.

"Em-"

"Where were you, Charlie?" her voice grew slightly louder and it was all it took for Charlie not to visibly flinch.

"Yo, chill, I just went out for some food. Someone didn't make it home in time," he stumbled over to her and plopped on the adjacent couch cushion.

"Food or alcohol?" she scoffed, turning to look at him: really look at him, assessing his slurred speech and red eyes. "Or both?"

"So, there was a little beer. So what?" he leaned back, throwing his arms over the back of the couch, clearly nonchalant about the reason for MJ's tone and making himself comfortable.

"So what?" her eyes narrowed as she felt the need to stand up, as if her height would intimidate him, "Charlie, you're thirteen. It's illegal! If you had gotten caught, mom and Aaron would have had to pick you up from the precinct." He opened his mouth to argue back but MJ was on a roll. "What? You didn't learn anything from Gayle? You've visited her! You've seen what prison is like and at the rate you're going, you're gonna end up in the cell right next to her!"

"Oh, MJ is so perfect. She never breaks the law," he mocked. "Weren't you the one who said that laws are not always fair and just and that we should be able to change them?"

"Yes! For laws that are _physically harming_ other people and preventing people from making their own decisions and from obtaining decent healthcare, not the legal drinking age."

"So you've _never_ sneaked a sip of alcohol in your life? You're so full of shit."

"Yes, okay. I have. But I'm sixteen and it was a sip. I'm not sneaking off in the middle of the night to get drunk with a bunch of strangers. Do I even have to mention the fights you've gotten into? Or the time you got caught vandalizing one of our neighbor's property? You're lucky that Mrs. Henderson didn't call the cops!" At this point, MJ was yelling. Her brother blinked, taken aback.

"Michelle, seriously, take a chill pill. If I wanted a lecture, I would've waited until mom and Aaron got home to stumble in," he laid his head down on the arm of the couch and closed his eyes as though hearing his sister's voice gave him the migraine he was developing.

She sighed, counting under her breath, until her breathing had evened out. She hated losing control and it was happening more and more lately when her brother got himself into trouble. "Mom and Aaron have enough to worry about right now. Between their new jobs and planning their wedding...they-they have enough, Charlie."

"Em-"

"Get to bed. You have school in the morning and so do I." Her tone left zero room for argument and her expression was wiped blank. She had taken back control and God help the next person that made it slip.

Getting ready for bed was such an established routine that Michelle didn't even remember doing it. Next thing she knew, she was seated in bed, book in her hands, pyjamas on, teeth brushed, and hair piled in a messy bun at the top of her head. Since she started this particular book the previous day, she had trouble putting it down. _Mornings in Jenin**_ was a page-turner, an unapologetic inside look at the Arab-Israeli conflict taking over Palestine and MJ would be lying if she said she hadn't shed a few tears which were quickly wiped away before anyone could notice.

She was just turning the page to start another chapter when she heard the front door swing open. Her parents were home. Immediately, she replaced the bookmark, set the novel on quietly on her nightstand, turned the lamp off, and pulled the covers over herself. Laying on her side, she snuggled close to the pillow and shut her eyes as her bedroom door creaked open.

"Emmy," her mother's voice whispered into the darkened room as Michelle winced at the nickname, "Are you still awake?"

MJ held her breath and stayed quiet until the door clicked shut.

 _###################################################_

With a loud clap, Wilson Fisk slammed his checkbook onto his desk: the only outward sign that he was pissed. In one fire, he had lost millions of dollars. And, not just his dollars. The boss of the boss wouldn't be too happy about it, though Fisk thought he was so rich, he couldn't care less about a million or two. He was wrong and he knew that from the angry voicemail left for him in his office when he got back. " _Fisk! You goddamn bastard. I leave you alone for two seconds and you burn two million! You better have a good explanation. Call me before I send someone down there!"_

Yeah, the boss was not happy. Fisk dragged a hand down his face, grumbling underneath his breath about that stupid kid in the suit as he dialed the phone. If he wasn't ordered to, he was still going after that little scrawny punk.

The line clicked and the first thing that was growled over the machine was one word, " _Explain."_

"Short version: it wasn't my fault. Queen's very own set fire to the warehouse."

" _The NYPD set fire to an abandoned warehouse?"_ he drawled, mirth mixed uncomfortably with malice somehow.

"No," Fisk's nostrils flared as he took a breath, "Spiderman."

" _Then take care of him! I don't hand you funds so you can sit on your ass, Fisk! You're not getting another dime from me for at least two more months," the boss seethed on the other line._

And, just like that, one of the biggest crime bosses in New York, was cut off. Wilson Fisk, AKA Kingpin was officially broke and he was going to take it out on Queen's finest and very own superhero. That is, after he ate the dinner his wife had cooked for him.

" _Wil, come on! Your food is gonna get cold, dear!"_

"Coming, Nessa!" He needed a name.

 _###################################################_

"Parker, how many different, known species of spiders exist?" MJ's bored voice startled him from his nap. He had been laying, head on the desk in front of him all throughout decathlon practice and apparently, the group's leader wasn't too thrilled with that. She stared, eyebrows peeker towards her hairline and she clenched the index card in her hand so tight, it crinkled. "You still with us?"

"Uh, yeah. Um...about 35,000?" he guessed.

Michelle flipped the card over to see that exact answer printed on the back. He was right and she mumbled unintelligibly for a few seconds under her breath before stating loudly to the group, "He's right."

He nodded and slowly placed his head back down when Michelle's voice triggered him to shoot right back up, "Parker," she angled her head to the door of the classroom signaling she wanted to speak to him in private. "Look if you want to swing on vines like Tarzan in the middle of the night-"

"MJ, not so loud-"

"-tying up criminals and such, that's fine-"

"Michelle, seriously-"

"-But, when you're here at decathlon practice, you're here. 100%. No sleeping. You can do that in class." She blew a strand of hair that fell out of her typical messy updo out of her face in a huff.

"Are you done?" Peter asked, semi-amused.

"No," she poked her finger at him and opened her mouth, probably to scold him some more when Flash Thompson's voice rang out from inside the classroom.

" _Hey! MJ, Penis, stop flirting and get back in here!"_

"I told you not to call me that, Eugene!" Michelle called back. Without so much as another glance at Peter (who totally saw the little smirk that formed on her face), she turned and marched back into the room; Flash's face a deep scarlett as the students around him snickered. MJ only ever smirked at her 'friends' and the young superhero couldn't help but think she and 'Eugene' were friends? If Peter didn't picture her as someone who was so socially awkward that she would avoid all possible romantic contact with people, he would've thought they could be even more than friends...which scared him...for...reasons he will never admit to anyone lest they sit on his back and threaten him with a wet willie. Maybe Ned had done so one too many times throughout their childhood.

As Peter followed slightly behind her, he felt the glaring eyes of several other teammates: Flash, Cindy, Sally, Abe, and Betty to name a few. As he reclaimed his old seat, he felt the vibration of the phone in his pocket.

As Michelle settled back into her seat, the rest of team began to quiz each other using their own specialized flash cards. She carefully cracked open a new book. Cautiously looking around at his other teammates, Peter slid the phone from his pocket, the screen lighting up with a new text message.

 _ **Need to talk to you ASAP. About a certain fire started last night. -TS.**_

No matter how many times Peter told Mr Stark that he had his contact saved in his phone and no longer needed him to sign his texts, Tony still did it.

 _ **How did you find out about that?**_

 _ **BMP, kid. Get your ass over here. -TS.**_ Peter searched his brain for the acronym, eyebrows furrowed then abruptly straightening out once it hit him. Baby Monitor Protocol. He squeezed his eyes shut, keeping his disappointed groan inside. His 'mentor' still didn't have faith in his superhero abilities even though he was 'super awesome' at it. At least, that was what the irrational side of Peter's brain convinced him of. It's not like Spiderman was known for trashing people's fences...lately.

 _ **I'm at decathlon practice. Can it wait til later?**_ Peter sent the message and not a second later, his phone buzzed a second time.

 _ **I'm outside. -TS**_

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Peter reluctantly pushed back his chair and stood, the eyes of several people following him. "Where are you going?" Cindy asked.

When Peter was, well, Peter and not you-know-who, he stuttered through most of his sentences partly out of nervousness and partly because his brain simply moved too fast for his mouth. Also, he was a native New Yorker. Why shouldn't he talk too fast? The only person he genuinely tried to slow down for on a regular basis was Michelle because she found him 'exhausting to keep up with sometimes.' "Uh-Stark Internship-um emergency. I have to-"

Groans filled the air as wadded up brainstorming notes were tossed in his direction from everyone except Michelle, Ned, and Mr Harrington. MJ's eyes followed him straight out the door, staying silent in favor of keeping her reputation as a socially awkward teenager. But still, she found herself biting her lip, restraining herself from defending the scrawny little white boy. She'd do an extra protest for human rights to make up for it later. When she got home, she would pick up her sketchbook and draw Peter's kicked puppy dog eyes for her daily 'person in crisis' sketch: her pencil gliding over the his irritatingly soft features. She lowered her eyes back to her book.

 _###################################################_

"What do you mean: money? How much money?" Tony's two questions rapidly fired at the young teen seated next to him.

"I don't know," his voice cracked, almost like he was going through puberty...again. He could just hear Michelle's voice in his head, _what a loser._ "Like a million dollars maybe? I-I didn't exactly have time to count it..." _when everything was being set on fire._ He held off on that last part. Mr. Stark seemed to have momentarily forgotten that particular detail in favor of discussing the copious amount of cash that this mysterious man had stacked up in a warehouse and Peter was _not_ about to remind him. As Happy pulled the car up to the Avengers new headquarters, the duo in the backseat unbuckled their seatbelts and made their way into the building.

"So, this guy just has millions of dollars in cash stacked up in a warehouse?"

"Y-Yeah. That's-That's pretty much what I said be-before," Peter recalled his earlier recap to Tony.

"Don't get smart. What ever happened to putting your money into a bank?"

"You see, Mr. Stark," Peter followed the older man enthusiastically to the kitchen, "I was thinking the same thing. If I could maybe-maybe track this guy down. I mean, he probably has some sort of paper trail somewhere. But, I could-I could-"

"You could what, kid? Take him out?" Tony turned to glare at the teen and shook his head, "I don't think so. What did I tell you months ago? You're not ready for this. I think it's time to get the cops involved and call it a day."

"But-But I took down Toomes," Peter pointed out dejectedly.

"He kicked your ass and I told you not to go after _him_ either. Keep in mind, he knows who you are. As Peter not just as Spiderman. He tells the wrong person that and you're done. Your aunt May's done. Your friends are done." The billionaire sat purposefully on the stool of the kitchen counter. "The guy has henchmen-"

"So did Toomes," Peter interrupted.

"Ah, Ah, Ah. The adult is talking. Let me finish," Tony waved his hands angrily at the kid who decided to stand in favor of trying to make himself appear more intimidating than he was. Key word: trying. "The guy has henchmen, almost as much money as I do, and access to condemned buildings that have no-trespassing laws. It sounds like Queens mob business to me and that is not a job for a Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman. In fact, it's not even a job for the NYPD. You know why?" He raised his eyebrows expecting Peter to take a guess.

He didn't. "Because mob men have a lot of connections. They're above the law and they're above _you_ so, stay out of it."

"But Mr. Stark-"

"I mean it, Parker. One toe out of line and I'll know. Friday, initiate Baby Monitor Protocol model two eight five."

 _ **Yes sir. Initiating Baby Monitor Protocol model two eight five.**_

"What-?" Peter turned to look at the ceiling where the female, Irish disembodied voice emanated from the speakers and quickly snapped back to Tony when he spoke again.

"Now get out of my hair. Don't you have homework?"

Peter didn't really want to find out what made BMP 285 different from BMP's one through 284. So, he decided to listen to his mentor...for now.

 **A/N: **I actually read this book back in high school for extra credit in my honors history class. Ten out of ten recommend it. It is such an amazing, poignant novel that follows a woman named Amal and her journey from living in Palestine with her family as a young girl to becoming an American citizen and raising her own daughter then returning back home. I only remember one mature scene in it (there may be more but I only remember one), so do beware and read at your own discretion. But, again, it is a great book.**


End file.
